I hope no one saw me running up the track with water dripping off my clothes.
“Conor? Mum? Roger?” I call. But I know they aren’t there. You can always tell if home is empty, because it has a completely different feeling. My voice echoes as if the cottage is a shell. I hurry up to the bathroom, strip off my clothes, find a towel, and rub myself all over until my skin tingles. I’ll have to put on some of the hand-me-down clothes I hate wearing. And rinse my wet clothes quickly, to get the salt out of them before they shrink.
Mum mustn’t know. I put on an old pair of jeans that’s slightly too big for me and a green top that’s about the best of the hand-me-downs. I clatter downstairs with my wet clothes in a bundle, quickly shove them into the washing machine, and turn it on to rinse and spin.
Conor must still be down at Rainbow and Patrick’s, with Sadie. Mum and Roger have been over at Porthnance for hours. They must be buying up the town. Or maybe they’re just “getting a bit of space.” That’s what Roger says sometimes: Your mum and I need a bit of space. It’s extremely irritating, considering that Conor and I are out of the house most of the day. How much space do they need?
I make a mug of tea and a banana sandwich and carry them to the table. My body is limp with fatigue. It’s not swimming that’s worn me out—I can swim for miles in Ingo and not notice it—it’s the tunnel, and being so afraid, and then the tension of the assembly and the battle of words and wits with Ervys. At least Faro and I didn’t have to come back through the tunnel. We came back the way the Mer usually go. It takes longer, but it’s much gentler. I couldn’t have faced the tunnel again. It’s easier when you do things innocently, for the first time, before you realize how tough they are.
Oh, no, Conor’s carving is still in the zip pocket of my trousers! I punch the washing machine program button and drag out the clothes. Water flops onto the floor, but I don’t care. I unzip the pocket, and there’s the talisman. I lay it carefully on the table while I mop the floor, put the clothes back into the drum, and restart the machine.
I sit down again. Under the electric light the carving is more beautiful than ever. I study it dreamily, admiring the strong curves of the Mer tail, the flowing hair, the line of the diving body. I know just how he feels as he plunges through Ingo, swooping through the water like a razor blade through silk. No, not really like a razor blade. Ingo welcomes you, and silk would never welcome the blade that cut it. Sometimes I have a very strange feeling that Ingo longs for me just as much as I long for Ingo. As if we need to be put back together in order to be whole. I must talk to Faro about it….
And then my eyes light on the headline of the newspaper that someone’s spread out on the table.
NEW FLOOD DEFENSE PLAN FOR ST. PIRANS! it shouts. As if anything that humans can do would hold back the tides. I pull the paper toward me to read more, and that’s when I realize: It’s the Cornishman. But the Cornishman comes out on Thursdays, and it’s Wednesday today. This must be last week’s paper.
I stare at the date. It’s impossible. I blink, but the figures stay the same. I am looking at a newspaper that comes out tomorrow.
How long have I been gone? I’ve got to speak to Conor. But the flood took his mobile phone, and he hasn’t got enough money yet for a new one. I’ve got to talk to Conor before I speak to Mum, so I’ll know what’s happening. If I’ve really been gone for a day and a half, then Mum will have contacted the police and the coast guard and everyone. But there’s no sign of that. The cottage is undisturbed. I remember what it was like after Dad disappeared, with neighbors and men in uniforms everywhere and phones ringing.
There’s not even a note for me on the table. Mum would have left a note, surely. She wouldn’t have just thought: Oh, well, Sapphy’s been gone for thirty-six hours, but no worries, I’ll go and have a bit of space with Roger.
I know for sure that Conor went to Rainbow and Patrick’s. They might know something. There’s a landline number for them somewhere, if their landline is back on yet after the flood….
It is. I find the number in our phone’s memory, and to my relief there’s a normal dial tone. After six rings someone picks up.
“Hello?”
It’s Rainbow.
“Rainbow? It’s Sapphy. Is Conor still with you?”
“Oh, hi, Sapphy.” Her voice is relaxed, friendly, unconcerned. “How are you? Are you coming over?”
“Um, no, not just now—listen, Rainbow, can I have a word with Conor if he’s there?”
“Sure, wait a minute, he was here a second ago—”
And I hear Conor’s voice in the background, “Rainbow, can I take the phone in the kitchen?”
The phone is passed over. I hear footsteps and the door shutting. He’s gone into Rainbow and Patrick’s little back kitchen. I hold the phone, listening. Conor doesn’t say anything at all, but I know he’s there because I can hear him breathing.
“It’s me,” I say at last. “Are you all right?”
“Am I all right?” says Conor quietly and furiously. “What do you think, Saph? You’ve been gone since yesterday.”
“I was fine, though, Conor, I was in—”
“I know where you were.”
“Conor—Mum, does she know?”
“She’ll be at work now. She thinks you’re here with me. I called her yesterday and said you’d decided to come down to Rainbow and Patrick’s and help out with the cleaning. And then it got late, and so we all stayed over. But that’s it, Saph. It’s the last time I lie for you. Next time you can tell your own lies.”
“Conor, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it. Rainbow and Patrick don’t know anything. If they meet Mum, and Mum says something about you being here, they’re going to think we’re both liars. Why don’t you ever think? Why do you just plunge in and do whatever you want?”
I can’t find an answer to this. I look down at the talisman lying on the kitchen table.
“Elvira gave me something for you,” I say quietly. I hear a sharp intake of breath.
“What? What is it?”
“I can’t really describe it. I’ve got to see you, Con.”
Suddenly there’s a flurry of barking in the background. I hear a door burst open and Rainbow’s voice apologizing. “Sorry, Conor, Sadie was desperate to get to you. I couldn’t hold her back.”
The barking grows louder and louder.
“Steady, girl, it’s all right, I haven’t gone away…get down, you crazy dog…Sadie!”
“Let me talk to her, Conor.”
“She knows I’m talking to you. That’s why she’s going nuts. Here, Sadie.”
A volley of barks hits the phone. I hold it away from my ear. Then, when Sadie calms down, I say, “It’s all right, Sadie girl, I’m here. I’m back. I’m coming to fetch you.”
She understands, I know she does. She whines, deep in her throat, with a mixture of pleading and relief in her voice.
“Conor? Conor, listen, I’m coming down now. I’ll ride your old bike. I’ve got to talk to you.”
“It’d better be good, Saph,” says Conor grimly. “And for God’s sake, don’t forget the bike lights.”
I nearly make the mistake of leaving a note for Mum to tell her where I’ve gone. But just in time I remember that I’m supposed to have been there all along. But my clothes are in the washing machine! Mum is bound to notice that. She’ll know I was here in the cottage and not in St. Pirans.
I’ve got to think. Mum’s at work; Roger’s off somewhere. I’ve got to make it look as if I’d never come back to the cottage at all. I check the bathroom, then drink the cold mug of tea, finish the banana sandwich, wash up the evidence carefully, and put away the mug and plate. By this time the washing machine’s program is almost finished. I wait impatiently while it chunters through an endless slow spin. At last the red light switches off and I can open the door. I stuff the clothes into a plastic bag and hide them in the garden, under a gooseberry bush, in case Mum checks my room. I’ll put them
out on the line tomorrow.
Now I’ve got to think about how to get to St. Pirans. I’ve got Conor’s old bike, but I can’t ride through the village in case Mum looks out of the pub window and sees me. Even if she doesn’t, someone could easily come in and say, Just saw your Sapphy biking off St. Pirans way.
It’s nearly dark. It’ll be all right if I wear a hoodie and crouch down low over the bike. There’s a gray hoodie somewhere in the stuff we’ve been given. Even if someone sees me, they might not recognize me.
No hope of that. Everybody knows everybody else in Senara Churchtown. You can’t sneeze without someone at the other end of the village asking if you’ve caught a cold; that’s what Mum says.
I’ll just have to ride fast. It’s much too dark to risk going to St. Pirans by the coast path. I close the cottage door, wheel the bike out of the shed, and set off up the track.
I make it past the pub, past the church, past the little row of cottages that clings to the graveyard, and on up the lane that leads to the St. Pirans road. The evening light is thickening. It’s almost dark now. My bike light wobbles ahead of me, lighting up the narrow lane and the thick hedges. I pedal hard, but it’s a long, steep climb out of Senara, and I have to slow down. At least no one’s seen me so far—
One moment she isn’t there; the next she is. Granny Carne, stepping out into the lane as if she’s been hiding in the hedge, just waiting for me. As if she knew I was coming this way. She raises her hand, and my bike wobbles to a halt.
“Where are you going so late, my girl?”
“Oh, just down to St. Pirans to, um…see some friends.”
Granny Carne surveys me. Her eyes have a shine on them like an owl’s at night.
“Strange,” she observes at last. “Your mother told me you’d been down St. Pirans since yesterday. And now here you are with your hair full of salt and tangled like seaweed. Gloria Fortune told me she’d seen you coming up the path, coming away from Ingo.”
“She can’t have said that! Gloria doesn’t know that Ingo exists.”
“She doesn’t know its name; that’s true. She said you looked strange, as if you were coming out of a dream. You were coming up from the cove; she was sure of that. She’s desperate to get down to that cove, Sapphire. More and more every day she wants it, and if it wasn’t for that bad leg of hers, she’d have climbed down long ago. You know what she’d find there. But I’m working with the bees to keep her here where she belongs, Sapphire, and don’t you go disturbing my work.”
This is so unfair. Granny Carne can’t really believe that I’m trying to tempt Gloria Fortune into Ingo. I’ve been so careful. I’ve said nothing. It’s not because I want to hide Ingo from her, but her life will never be the same once she realizes that she has Mer blood. What if she disappears, as Dad did?
Granny Carne’s amber gaze pierces the dusk as if it was daylight. Suddenly she pounces.
“What have you brought out of Ingo with you, my girl?”
“What—what do you mean, Granny Carne?”
“You have something with you. I can feel it. Something that’s not made by human hands.”
Of course, the coral carving that Elvira made. That’s what Granny Carne means. The Mer figure for Conor. But how does she know? It’s hidden away in my pocket. It’s as if she can sense there’s something close that doesn’t belong to Earth.
“Show me,” says Granny Carne commandingly.
I get off my bike and prop it against my leg on the grass at the edge of the road. The handlebars swing toward me, and the bike lamp lights up my hands as I reach into my pocket and gently bring out the talisman, which I’ve wrapped in one of Dad’s old handkerchiefs. I unroll it carefully. If I drop the talisman here in the long grass, I’ll never find it again.
There’s the little Mer figure. It looks more alive than ever. The lamplight catches the strong curve of the tail and the diving arms. A sudden breeze blows up, and the grass shivers. In the distance an owl hoots.
“Show me, Sapphire,” repeats Granny Carne.
I hold it out to her.
I hear her intake of breath. She bends over to see more clearly. I can smell honey and lavender and woodsmoke. Her lined face is stern as she pores over the talisman.
“Do you want to hold it, Granny Carne?”
“No, my girl. It’s not for me to hold such a thing. No need to tell me where that came from. So it’s not enough for you to go to Ingo now, forgetting Air and Earth and all that belongs to it. You have to carry Ingo with you, even when you come back to us. Don’t you see how far away from us you’re traveling?”
I’m about to explain to Granny Carne that the carving is for Conor, not for me, but something holds my tongue. Granny Carne sees the Earth side of Conor. She trusts Conor. She even let him talk to her bees. She’ll stop me from taking Elvira’s talisman to him, in case it binds him to Ingo. But I’ve already told Conor about it, and I know he’ll want to have it because Elvira made it for him. It’s better if Granny Carne believes that the little carving is mine.
But I’m not going to lie to Granny Carne. Her eyes would soon search out a lie. I just close my fingers around the carving again and slip it back into my pocket. I don’t bother to wrap it with the handkerchief; I just want to get the talisman out of Granny Carne’s sight.
“So you went to Ingo again; and from the look of it, you didn’t like what you found there,” says Granny Carne. Even though I’m trying to hide the purpose of the carving from her, the quietness and the darkness make me feel that I can confide in her.
“Granny Carne, someone told me a story about a monster who lives at the bottom of the—the world. He has to have a sacrifice or he will destroy everything. Nothing else can stop him. And so people have to—they don’t want to, but they have to—”
“Yes,” says Granny Carne calmly, “I know that story.”
“You know it? But how?” How could Granny Carne have heard about the Kraken? She is Earth and Air. I’m as sure as I can be sure of anything that she has never entered Ingo. It’s not in her nature. Granny Carne is the opposite of Ingo.
“It was a long time ago,” she says. The bike lamp carves deep shadows on her face. “He lived in the bowels of the Earth. Some said he was a man; some said he was a bull. Or he was part man and part bull. They said you could hear him bellowing like thunder miles away, whether in anger or in pain nobody knew. For years he would be still and silent, and then he would roar for sacrifice. Unless there was sacrifice, he would shake the earth until houses were rubble and families were trapped in the ruins.
“So, like you said, Sapphire, they didn’t want to, but they had to. They had to put him back to sleep, and there was only one way.”
Gooseflesh creeps over my skin. The way Granny Carne tells the story, you would think it was happening here, now.
“Stones were put in a bowl,” she continues. “One stone for each child in the city. All the stones were white except for one red stone. And then a cloth was laid over the bowl. The parents came forward one by one. There’d be a father or a mother from each family. One by one they put a hand under the cloth and picked out a stone. The red stone meant that your child was the sacrifice.”
As Granny Carne speaks, the picture of the past grows sharp, like a landscape when the mist clears. The parents must have trembled with fear as they put their hands under the cloth. You would hardly dare look down at your hand to see what color the stone was. And if it was white, you’d want to jump up and punch the air with joy. But you wouldn’t do that, because the red stone was still in the bowl, and that meant that someone else’s child had to be the sacrifice.
“But why didn’t they all join together? They could have fought the monster.”
Granny Carne shakes her head. “They couldn’t fight the earth shaker. If they tried, all the children from the city would die when the houses tumbled and the walls fell on them. But if one child was sacrificed on the altar, then the monster was satisfied. He went back to sleep, deep in the
earth.”
Her words whirl in my head. “Sacrificed on the altar! But that means—that means those people killed their own children!”
“It’s true that human hands held the knife,” says Granny Carne. “A man who had no children—he did it. But no one blamed him. It was the monster who brought death to that child. The monster forced the sacrifice.”
“But how could they do it, Granny Carne? How can parents let their own children be killed?”
Granny Carne draws herself up to her full height. “Don’t you be so sure that the present is stronger and wiser than the past. They did what they had to do. If you’d seen the faces of those mothers and fathers, you’d understand.”
If you’d seen the faces… I stare at Granny Carne. She’s done it again. She’s made it sound as if the past is as much her home as the present. As if she really saw those faces with her own eyes. And perhaps she did. I shiver, imagining Granny Carne ranging back and forth across time, like an owl with all-seeing eyes.
“But the Mer would never do that,” I say aloud, remembering Mellina and her tender face as she looked after her Mer baby. “They don’t sacrifice their children. It’s the Kraken who takes them.”
“Yes,” says Granny Carne thoughtfully, “and what I’m telling you of is long ago and far away, Sapphire. And now you’re back from Ingo, talking of the Kraken. He’s awake, then, is he, my girl?” She says it as matter-of-factly as if the Kraken were a dog that had been sleeping by a fire.
“Yes.”
“He’s been sleeping a long while. It was time, I suppose.” She sighs wearily. “So it’s all got to be gone through again, has it? And this time they want you to be part of it. But remember this: You can choose, Sapphire. No one can make a path for you and force you to travel down it. No, my girl, no matter how much the Mer charm your heart away, remember that your blood is equal. Half Mer and half here in the Air with your feet planted on Earth. They sing very sweetly in Ingo, my girl, but don’t let your own voice be drowned.”
The Deep Page 6